Divided Loyalties
by Rico Perrien
Summary: In 1980, a young wizard was born. Unlike his more famous contemporary, he had a more-or-less normal upbringing in a loving family. However, not everything was strawberries and herrings. AU, warning of some nastiness
1. Discovery

**Divided Loyalties**

**Rating**: T with a warning of semi-explicit nastiness.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to any of the Harry Potter books, movies, inflatable dolls of Hermione and Susan, chocolate frogs or any other of the creations of J.K. Rowling and her associates. This story is based on her creations and for them, I thank her; however, the non-canon characters (and all their flaws) are mine. This is a work of fiction, and I receive no income, praise or even credit for imagining the scenes contained herein.

**A/N:** This is a back story for Seamus Finnegan. Almost completely non-canon, because canon mentioned almost nothing about his background. Being Irish of Seamus' age necessarily brings in some Irish history, and there is some inspiration from 'Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall', by canoncansodoff (thanks to him/her for that story) which references that history. Other inspirations come from Irish and Scottish folklore and folksongs. The location was inspired by the late Tommy Makem's song about his hometown 'Keady Morning'. A lot of the names were copied from some of my wife's relatives.

1: **Discovery**

The apprentice baker rode his bicycle out along Clay Road, southerly out of his small home town of Keady, County Armagh. He had ridden along this road many times, but this time was special. Tim Finnegan was about to attain his journeyman status, having trained under his grandfather and father for enough time and with enough skill to earn the honour. With his new-found rank and subsequent increase in his weekly pay packet, he was finally secure enough to propose to Maureen, and he was on his way to her family's farm to speak to her father, and to make his offer to the girl of his dreams.

Tim's four -times-great grandfather (and his namesake) had been the drunkard famed in lore and song. Tim (the ancestor) had been a bricklayer who had fallen from his ladder, and been knocked unconscious. His coworkers and family, being typically as drunk as he was, assumed he had died from his injuries and proceeded to hold a wake of the 'dead' man, who awoke during the festivities. As this fact had been thrown in Tim's face for his entire life as he had been teased about his name, he had always been quite sparing in his drinking. This moderate behaviour had met with Maureen's hearty approval in a land where alcoholism was almost considered a career.

He had often ridden south out of town or walked through the countryside, but had never noticed the O'Neil farm before. He thought this strange, as he had known Maureen since their days in primary school, and thought he knew the country well.

Maureen had left town some years before to go to a school 'over the sea', and although she returned every summer, Tim had found that their time together in summer was not nearly long enough for him. Now that she had returned, apparently for good, he intended to make their time together more permanent. It had been a year since she had returned, and at nineteen, the two were both of a good marriageable age.

When they had met for lunch the previous Friday, as had become their recent custom, he had indicated to her that he needed to speak to her father on a matter of some importance. She had smiled at him, and under her breath muttered "Bloody well time!" She had invited him to come for Sunday 'Tea', around five in the afternoon, after he went to Mass after his shift (to get the breads ready for the townsfolk coming out of their respective churches, he started at four in the morning). As the bakery was open every day but Monday, and Maureen worked at the chemist's on the weekdays and half Saturdays, Sunday evening was the best time for them to get together.

On Saturday, Maureen's father had come into the bakery, and asked to be served by Tim and to speak to him for a moment. As the younger man was wrapping the man's order of bread and buns, Seamus passed him a sheet of paper, saying with a broad smile "Here's a bit of a map to show you how to get to the farm. People often find it hard to locate, and we wouldn't want you to lose your way when you're on such an _important_ mission. Now don't go telling others where we are – we are fond of our privacy." Tim looked at the map which showed the roads to get to the farm. Oddly, the page stated 'The O'Neil family farm is located a kilometre off the left side of the Clay Road, 13.7 kilometres south of the turnoff from the A29." Tim had been past that area many times, but didn't recall ever seeing the place.

Tim assured the older man that he would not tell anyone else of the map. Being born and raised near the border, he learned early to carefully hold his tongue.

Being born Catholic in Northern Ireland, Tim's family was congenitally of republican leanings, but only just. Since the Trouble began to heat up, the family had become disgusted with both sides of the conflict. Both the Protestant Loyalists and the Catholic Republicans had committed atrocities, both claiming to have God on their side (and of course, _their_ side only)! Tim's father Sean commented that both sides were hypocrites, claiming to follow the Prince of Peace while murdering their neighbours.

The Finnegan family recognized that the Republic, for all its 'Celtic Purity', was an economic basket case. Although the North was under the control of the (sometimes-hated) British, the land was prosperous. It is said that a man's heart is on the left, but his wallet is in the right pocket. Contrary to many of their fellows, the family's loyalties were very much tempered by pragmatism. For all the historical baggage, and the Brits did have much to answer for in that respect, British rule did keep the large family fed.

As the town's bakers, the family could not afford to offend either side, but neither could they ignore the goings on - they kept very carefully neutral. If anything, they hated neither side, but did not support either side either. The family had been in Armagh of only three generations, as Tim's great-grandfather had come from the south to work in the shipyards of Belfast, until he got fed up with being called a 'red-headed nigger' by his Protestant coworkers, and had moved to the small border town.

In spite of their dislike of the activities of the IRA and other republican forces, the family, like most Catholic families in the north, were outraged when the first battalion of the Paratroop Regiment (1st Paras) had shot and killed unarmed protesters on what became known as 'Bloody Sunday', some two years before. Unlike many, however, they did not blame their Protestant neighbours who had not had anything to do with the massacre.

Tim had chosen to ride his bike to the home of his intended as it was too far to walk, although as he was the local football coach, he could have run the distance. However, doing that, he would have arrived needing a shower, which would not give the right impression to the family. Although he was well known to the local constabulary as a good lad, had he driven the family's car he would have been stopped and the car searched, as a matter of standard procedure this near the border.

When he arrived at the O'Neil farm, Maureen was waiting for him, with her older sister Katriona and her fifteen-year-old brother Brian. Brian was being the pain in the derriere that younger brothers are contractually required to be, asking if she was going to jump Tim's bones right there on the porch or whether they we going to heading to the barn to do the deed, and could he watch? Maureen's father sent Brian to pick up something (which was entirely unnecessary at the moment) at the far end of the farm, knowing it would take the boy a good hour before he could return.

Seamus O'Neil looked sternly at Tim and said "Our Maureen says you have something to ask me. Let's sit for a spell." As they sat, Seamus offered the younger man a beer, and asked what kind he preferred. Tim replied that if available he would prefer cider (knowing that cider was more apolitical than many of the brands of beer available in the area), but otherwise a small lager or ale would be nice. Seamus smiled and said "We brew our own here on the farm, so no 'brands' here. George to the north grows some good barley and Eamon to the south grows hops, and we put them together here. George favours the Union, and Eamon favours the Republic, and this way they can both agree on something without it becoming a big argument." The two men chuckled at this practical solution to an all too common problem.

After taking a swallow of the brew put before him, Tim laid out his request for Maureen's hand (as well as the rest of her) saying that, as a journeyman, he was now able to support a wife and family, that he had loved her for years, and wished to marry her. Seamus nodded, and said "Well, you have my vote, for all that that counts. Now you will have to get Mo to agree. But I should tell you, she has a secret which you have to know before she will wed you. You will have to keep that secret from all but your parents, as they will be the other grandparents of your children, should she agree. If you cannot promise to keep this secret, you will forget her and us, forever."

Tim looked puzzled. "What secret could be so important as that? You're not going to tell me that she is actually a boy mascarading as a girl?"

Seamus's laugh shook the building. "It's not that. She's a fine colleen, and true."

Tim looked somewhat worried, as he finished his beer, and continued "And I tell you, I could never forget Maureen. Never."

Mr O'Neil shook his head sadly. "Lad, when I say you would forget her, I tell you the plain truth. Now go and talk to her. You have my blessing. Now go. She's in the kitchen."

Tim walked into the kitchen, puzzled at Seamus' comments. He worried about the need to keep secrets, even from his family and closest friends. If some of the local 'Boys' decided he was keeping secrets, possibly politically sensitive secrets, they might come asking questions, and that could get very unpleasant.

Maureen was sitting at the table, stirring a mug of tea. She looked at Tim, and then the tea, then at Tim with a questioning look. She did not immediately get up to fetch him a mug, which he thought odd.

She looked at him, and smiled, asking "You have a question for me?"

He made his offer of marriage, asking her to share his life, which she accepted with a beaming smile, leaning forward across the table to kiss him. "I accept, on one condition."

Tim nodded. "I know. Your Da said you had a secret, which I must agree to keep, or you could never marry me. I will keep your secret. I swear it."

Maureen bit her lip. "It's not just _my_ secret. It's the whole family."

Tim smirked a little. Don't tell me. You're all leprechauns, and by marrying you I get to share the pot of gold. Right?"

Maureen laughed as heartily as her father had. "It's not that, but not entirely that far off."

Tim was puzzled, and looked at Maureen quizzically.

The young woman gulped, and making her decision on how to say it, said bluntly "I'm a witch."

Tim smiled at his (perhaps) fiancée, and said "Now I've seen you with your temper up, but I would never have called you a witch. I must admit, you have bewitched my heart."

Maureen smiled and blushed prettily. "Oh hush, you silver-tongued devil. Hear me out. This is important. Very important!"

Tim grinned, and asked "What could be more important than you becoming my wife?"

Maureen quit smiling. "Timothy Finnegan, would you please shut your gob until I have said my piece? I say this is important, and it is. It's a matter of life or death to my family."

"No Tim, I am not telling you that we are with the Provos, or we are spies for the British. Nothing like that. I tell you that I am a witch, as is my Ma and Katie. Da and Brian are wizards. We are all magical."

Tim shook his head. "That's not possible. Is it?"

Maureen decided a demonstration was needed to convince the young man. She asked, "You like your tea with one sugar and no milk, right?" As Tim nodded, she gestured with one hand, and without her touching it, a mug floated over from the cupboard to the table, a sugar lump leaped from the bowl into the mug. The teapot raised itself into the air and poured tea into the mug.

She looked at Tim, and added "And some or all of our kids will likely be magical too." She sat looking at Tim with a smug look on her face, as if to say "Now what do you have to say, smartyboots? This is something that you need to know, and that you have to keep secret!"

The smile on her face was the last thing Tim saw as he fainted.


	2. A New Threat

**Divided Loyalties**

**Rating**: T with a warning of semi-explicit nastiness.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to any of the Harry Potter books, movies, inflatable dolls of Hermione and Susan, chocolate frogs or any other of the creations of J.K. Rowling and her associates. This story is based on her creations and for them, I thank her. This is a work of fiction, and I receive no income, praise or even credit for imagining the scenes contained herein.

2. **A New Threat**

Tim awoke to the sound of something scraping near his head. As he raised his head, he saw the smiling face of his new fiancée's father, who was sliding a mug of tea towards him.

Seamus O'Neil nodded to him. "Lad, you've had a bit of a shock. Here, drink your tea."

The young man sat up, and noticed, to his embarrassment, that Maureen's entire family was sitting in the kitchen looking at him regaining consciousness. Maureen's little brother looked like he was going to burst out laughing, but his father's sharp eye was on him, and he held back.

Katie smiled and said, "Tim, I would like you to meet my husband, Michael Butler. Mickey, this is Timothy Finnegan, Maureen's new fiancé." As the two young men shook hands, Michael said "Call me Mick", to which Tim nodded and pointing to his chest, answered, "Tim". Tim looked towards his new family and then back at his soon-to-be brother-in-law and asked, "You too?", to which Mick smiled and nodded.

Tim grimaced a little, and said, not quite under his breath, "Well, this is going to take some getting used to!" Seamus burst out laughing, and patting Tim's shoulder, smiled and said "Good lad!"

Maureen reached out to hold his hand. "I'm sorry, Tim, but we had to see how you would take it. As I said, it's a life and death matter to us. And there is the matter of the law."

Tim shook his head to clear it. "There's a law against being a witch?"

Maureen shook her head, as did the rest of her family. She giggled as she told him "No. Quite the opposite. There's a law against telling you that I'm a witch."

Then her mother Fiona commented sadly, "Although, you know, in the past there was effectively a law against being a witch, on pain of death. Church law, and common law too. Some of my family were burned at the stake for witchcraft. We adults learn a spell to stop fire from burning us, but they burned children too. The law Mo speaks of is to protect us, not you. It's called the Statute of Secrecy, and forbids us telling any muggles about us."

"You see, muggles outnumber us about four thousand to one. Bigotry and prejudice are all too common, and I have to say, it happens among magical folk as well as muggles. If the word got out, we would be at grave risk, no matter how powerful our magic was."

Tim frowned. "I've been called a lot of things in my life, but I've never been called a 'muggle' before. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing."

Maureen touched his hand again. "Actually, you _have_ been called a muggle before, just maybe not in your hearing. It just means a non-magical person. Or it's supposed to mean just that. As Mum says, people are people, as mean spirited or as kind as any. A lot of magical folk consider muggles barely above animals, certainly not really human, just as you implied that calling me a witch was a nasty thing to say."

"It's only under very special circumstances that I could tell you my true nature." As she smiled coyly, she said "One such condition is when a non-magical person pledges themselves to a magical person, as you did when you asked me to marry you. Even then, I needed your promise to keep the secret. Had you not given me your pledge and your promise, I would and could never have told you."

Her father added, "When I said you would have forgotten her, I meant just what I said. There are spells to erase parts or all of your memory. Had you been unworthy of my daughter, all trace of your love for her would have been expunged. You would have literally forgotten her, and us, completely. Our farm is protected by spells so you would not notice it, unless you were told its location by one of the family. This is why you have never found it before, and why I showed you the map – the inscription let you in on the secret."

"And if anyone else finds out about us, we may just have to have a chat with them, and erase us from their memory. It's not something I like to do, but sometimes it is necessary. As Mo said, it can be a matter of life or death to us."

Tim looked sharply at the man who was soon to be his father-in-law. He had almost been insulted, and in a somewhat harsher tone asked "You speak of me being 'worthy'. What do you mean by that remark, sir?"

Seamus smiled at his soon to be son-in-law. "Tim, we have been watching you. Maureen told us of your mutual feelings growing stronger over the last few years. We needed to know that you were a man to be trusted. Also, that you were someone who could cope with the knowledge of who and what we are. A lot of people can't handle the truth about us."

"Do you remember last summer when you were coaching those lads on the football pitch last summer?"

Tim looked puzzled. "I coached the boys a lot of times. Which time do you mean? One time was much like another. How does coaching football show I could be trusted with the family secret?"

Seamus smiled. "It was not that you could be trusted. That we had seen over many years, from what Mo has told us. It was you showing that differences between people didn't matter much to you. Do you remember the four Protestant lads?"

Tim nodded. 'I do. There were the four boys sitting on the bench watching my group of lads practicing after church. I just thought they might like to join us."

Seamus nodded. "But do you remember what you said to them, Tim?"

Tim shook his head. Apparently, what he had said had made quite the impression, but for the life of him, he could not recall what it might have been. He had treated the other boys just as he would his own bunch.

Mr. O'Neil nodded. "It wasn't just _that_ you invited them to play, but _how_ you invited them that made the difference. To me and to us."

_Tim Finnegan looked over to the side of the pitch as saw four boys about nine to eleven years of age, sitting forlornly on the bench. They were about the same age as the boys he was teaching to play football as a team rather than as individuals. He ran up to them and asked, "Would you lads like to play too?" _

_The oldest boys said sadly, "We can't play with you lot. You're Catholics, and Vicar says Catholics are evil and worship the devil."_

_Tim said "I see. Do you believe in God?" The boys nodded. Tim asked, "Do you all believe in Jesus as the Saviour of Mankind?" The boys nodded again. Tim said "Well, so do I. And so do these boys out here. Do you say the creed?"_

_The boys nodded. Tim asked "Doesn't the creed say 'I believe in one God'?" They nodded again. Tim said quietly, "so if there is only one God, then you and I must believe in the same God."_

_One of the boys said "But you Catholics do things that are not in the Bible!"_

_Tim nodded. "That is true. Does your father have a motor car?" The boys nodded. Tim said "I don't know where in the Bible they mention motor cars. Are they evil, then?" One of the boys started to snicker, "My Da says that his car must be the work of the devil, from all the repairs he has to do." The bunch laughed, and Tim joined them._

"_How about aeroplanes? Are they evil? They're not in the Bible either."_

_Tim asked, "And where is football mentioned in the Good Book?" The boys looked puzzled, as Tim added, "Does that make football evil?" The boys looked more and more puzzled. The youngest one said, "But old Mr. Watson said that all Papists are bad."_

_Tim nodded, "And there are a lot of Catholics who say all 'Prots' are evil. I don't believe it. I agree there are some Catholics who are bad people, just as there are evil Protestants. When someone is telling you what you are supposed to believe, chances are they want something from you. And it may be something you may not want to give them. When a politician tells me that someone else is a thief or chases women or is into the drink or whatever, I always wonder what __**he**__ is doing that he doesn't want you to notice, so he tries to get you to look elsewhere."_

"_But do you know what else I __**do**__ believe?" The boys shook their heads._

"_I believe that with you four, we have enough lads for two teams and we can have a match. What do you say?"_

_After ten minutes, Tim stopped the play, and reassigned boys to different teams and started a second game. By the end of the hour, some lonely boys had some new friends they would never have met._

Seamus nodded. "You see Tim, I was watching you, in disguise. Maureen had told me that she was sweet on you, and it's a father's duty to check on his daughter's beaus. You didn't see me, but I was there. What you told the boys showed that you could accept people who were different, and that you weren't particularly affected by the hatreds that are so common in our land."

"Tim, this family has farmed this land since before Saint Patrick walked the countryside. Before the Vikings set up Dublin. We have seen kings come and go, each demanding that they were the only true ruler. Usually, the one in charge was just the nastiest bastard of the bunch, so he conquered or drove out the _previous_ batch of thugs."

"One other item you need to know is that we magicals, witches and wizards alike, seem to be more in tune with the forces of nature than those who are not blessed with our gifts. I know that there are those, magical or non, that somehow feel that, what they themselves are is somehow superior to all others, be it social class, skin colour, or magic. Bloody bigots, all of them. We're just people."

"Some seem to feel that their powers are some sort of birthright, but I see them as blessings. The Yanks have a saying, which I think relates to one of their unintelligible sports, that 'He was born on third base, and acted as if he had hit a triple'. They believe that, because they have these abilities, they are somehow ordained to rule over all other beings, that they are 'better' than others.

"Anyway, this has the effect of affording us longer lifespans than our non-magical neighbours. This poses problems, when the non-magical 'authorities' notice that the same person has held the same property for over a hundred years, and still seems to be in good health. As I said, the family has farmed this land for a very long time – the extended family actually owns several farms around Ireland, both north and south. Every so often, the paperwork is filed showing the sale of a farm to a related family from farther away, and sometimes we rotate which place we are located at, and sometimes we stay put and 'officially' change our names. Fortunately, with longer lives, some of the clan has become excellent forgers, and there are always ways of persuading the filing clerks to misfile documents. Particularly when the whole country was under the English, the Irish bureaucrats were always ready to quietly stick it to the Brits."

"Right now, for the most part, we magicals are governed by the Ministry of Magic, which is run by the rich and powerful out of London. I assume you know the Golden Rule – not the Biblical one, but the political one. 'Those with the Gold make the Rules.' The powers-that-be tend to try to keep hold of that power, for their own benefit. It's always been that way. Having been here so long, and having long lives, we have learned not to trust governments of any kind."

"The goal of this family is to live quietly, and for the powers-that-be at the moment to just leave us alone. From what I have seen of you, you will fit right in. Welcome to the family Tim." As Tim stood, he held out his hand, which Seamus took and shook happily. As Tim turned towards his girlfriend, his arms were filled with Maureen, and his face covered with her kisses.

Maureen Finnegan was sitting in the kitchen of their small flat near the bakery where Tim worked, when he came through the door. He was still a bit dusty from the flour he had swept up before closing the shop. She looked up from where little Mary-Margaret was nursing, and saw the frown on her husband's face.

Looking at her, he said "Mo, we need to talk to your father. I just heard the news of something happening in Belfast, that sounds like something we talked about last summer. It sounds like something magical, but something terrible."

Maureen nodded. Trying not to disturb her child, she inclined her head towards the window where a small owl sat, apparently waiting for him to notice. When he looked at the bird, it nodded, and looked down. A note lay on the counter in front of the owl, who was apparently waiting for a reply.

The note read 'Family conference. As soon as you can.'

Nodding, Tim scrawled a short note, telling his father-in-law that they were on their way, and that he had some news he wanted to discuss, too. He tied it to the owl's left leg, and gave the bird a small treat. The little raptor nodded its head in thanks and flew off.

Gathering up his small family (two year old Bridgette was napping), and loading them into his car, the Finnegans drove out to the O'Neil farm. The arrival of the note made Tim suspicious that his father-in-law had heard the same news as he had. If his fears were correct, 'The Troubles' was not their only problem.

The note had not indicated extreme urgency, as had happened the previous spring. Brian had been cutting weeds with a scythe, and had cut his foot badly, amputating two toes. That time, a silver panther appeared in their flat, and with Seamus's voice told Maureen to come at once and bring her blood potions. Maureen had gathered several bottles, and disappeared with a loud pop after telling Tim go get to the farm as fast as he could gather up the girls.

When he managed to get to the farm, Brian was resting more-or-less comfortably, with his toes reattached and his mother and sister watching and moving their wands over his leg as if searching for something. When they were satisfied, they nodded to each other, and Maureen handed her brother a bottle of pills, telling him to take no more than four every six hours. Recognising the label on the bottle, Tim was about to question his wife, when she smiled at him and said "I know, I know. I could concoct a potion or have him chew on a willow wand. But the muggles have made these pills with the same stuff, they purified it and concentrated it, and it's easier to take this way and works as fast. And you can buy them anywhere, instead of having to tramp through the woods gathering ingredients. I'm not enough of a pure-blood bigot to reject it just because it's muggle-made – I'm not that stupid."

Tim had learned that Maureen had been a star student at the magical school she had gone to in Scotland. She had been the vain potion master's prize student, taking the top marks until into her fourth year, when two brilliant new students took her crown. One had been a beautiful red-haired girl in Gryffindor (Tim had learned about the house system at the school) and the other a poor boy who had been sorted into Slytherin. The poor boy had frequently been tormented by a group of Gryffindor boys led by two kids from rich families, who of course thought themselves the height of intelligence and coolness because of their antics. Maureen went on for some time on the unfairness of their pranks - abuse of the poor by the rich had a long history in Ireland, and it was not something to be admired, certainly not by Maureen.

Since she had graduated, Maureen had been working (by correspondence) on her pharmacy degree from the Open University, while also working her apprenticeship with her boss at the Chemist's towards her Mastery in Potions.

When Tim and Maureen arrived at the farm, Maureen's father and mother were sitting in on the porch. Fiona was waiving her wand towards the farm fields, and apparently satisfied, turned to the others and said, "I think we're okay. I can't detect anyone out there that shouldn't be. George is down by the hayrick, but he's far away. The privacy spells should be enough for now, and the anti-detection spells and anti-apparition spells are holding. We should be able to speak freely now."

In all the times Tim had met with his wife's family, they had never invoked this level of security. He looked at his father-in-law, who was wearing a serious frown.

Seamus poured glass of a clear liquid from a pitcher, and handed them around. As Tim looked at his glass suspiciously, Seamus smiled. "Nothing magical, lad, just straight potcheen. If your news is the same as ours, we may all need a stiff belt." Tim had learned in earlier years that the Irish moonshine could be dangerous in excess (as in more than a tablespoon full), the fact that his father-in-law felt the need of it was worrisome, as if he needed further warning.

Maureen's father began.

"You all know we have discussed this Voldemort fellow some time ago when he started getting noticed over in England?" Everyone nodded.

"I don't know whether you would call him a criminal or a terrorist, or what. I think that terrorist fits well. Like all terrorists, he seems keen to have his atrocities get maximum publicity. That way, you generate the maximum terror. When he and his followers attack, they cast a spell that puts a black cloud over the site, which looks like a skull and a snake – they call it the 'Dark Mark'"

"The man appears to be obsessed with death. Nobody knows his real name, but he claims to be a lord, and his name means 'flying from death'. His followers are called 'Death Eaters', and wear skull-like masks and black cloaks, and he has them torture and kill people. One thing I find very strange is that they claim to be the very height of wizarding society, but all have let him brand them like cattle! For those who think so highly of themselves, to allow themselves to be branded like slaves? Very weird."

"I gather that in England, they have tended to kill muggles, who they considered sub-human, calling them mudbloods, but they also kill anyone who stands up to them. Surprisingly few do stand up to them, and most just run away hoping that the Aurors will control the Death Eaters. But the Aurors are instructed not to use deadly force, so the Death Eaters kill them too, and the Ministry does nothing. Rumours have it that a number of the rich so-called high-born wizards are actually Death Eaters bribing the Ministry to do nothing. Anyone who has studied any history knows how effective bribery can be – when actual weapons couldn't break into a castle, the so-called "Golden Cannon' often worked.

"Well, word is that he is expanding his operations. The rumour is that he is trying to recruit some of our banshees, giants and other dark creatures. I heard that the leprechauns will have nothing to do with him, saying that his program of the supremacy of wizards is not in their interest – their representative said (with a wide grin) it goes against their doctrine that _they_ are the pinnacle of creation."

"I hear Voldemort has avoided Ireland so far, or at least the North. With the Troubles, I guess their little escapades don't get enough 'respect'. Also, I gather that we have a bit of a reputation of fighting back, which they don't seem to like. But I get the impression that is about to change. I got news over the last week that there was a murder in Derry where the murderer was shot by the police – at least here, the police are not shy about using their weapons. The murderer was wearing the Death Eater costume, and had a brand on his left forearm."

"Now, I don't know if this was a private feud, or part of Lord Voldemort's growing plans, but I know that this family is in danger if it is, and particularly Tim and Mo's brood. The Death Eaters seem to consider 'half-and-halfs' to be abominations, mixing wizard blood with mudbloods (sorry Tim. Their words, not mine). We are taking steps to provide what protection we can. Wards, emergency portkeys, whatever. Keep your wands handy, and don't hesitate."

"Yesterday, this poster was put up in every wizarding community throughout the UK and Ireland. He's making it official now. Nobody saw who put them up, but they're everywhere."

Seamus unrolled a parchment on the table. At the top was the Dark Mark of a skull with a snake writhing around it. Below the mark were the words:

_The Dark Lord Voldemort is taking control of our world, from the incompetent fools at the Ministry of Magic. He will restore all true wizards and witches to the positions of supremacy that is their birthright. _

_All those unworthy of his approval will be removed from their positions of power. The Ministry and our entire society will be purged of blood-traitors, mudbloods, half-bloods and half-breeds, as well as all other abominations and vermin. Lesser creatures will resume their natural role under our domination._

_Wizards and witches who agree to serve Lord Voldemort will be well rewarded. Any who stand in his way will be crushed._

_Anyone speaking the name of Lord Voldemort without respect will be severely punished._

Seamus grimaced and said, "Some people I spoke to think they have put a tracking spell on the use of Voldemort's name. Hence Fiona's anti-detection spell. Some are already refusing to say the name, calling him 'You-know-who' or 'He-who-must-not-be-named', for fear that saying it would lead to Death Eaters arriving at their doors."

Tim asked, "What does it mean, 'true wizards'?"

Seamus sighed. "It means wizards and witches with what they call 'pure-blood', which means nothing but wizards and witches in their families for generations. Anyone who is non-magical, or has a squib or muggle in their family will be 'out'. That means most of families like ours, that don't pay much attention to this bullshit."

"There are a lot of the so called pure families that seem to have been losing their magical power, probably through in-breeding – as farmers, we know that you can't inbreed too closely, or you damage the breed. This seems to be a way to desperately hang on to power that they are losing."

"Anyhow, we're going to be on his list to be killed, or as they so nicely say, removed and purged!"

Tim interjected "I also have some bad news touching the same. Today, after my shift at the bakery, I stopped in for a cider and a bit of craic at the pub. In the corner, I saw old Sullivan. I have never seen a man so shaken, and I went over to see if I could help."

"You all have heard rumours that Sullivan was IRA when he was younger. Well, he still is," and with a shudder, continued, "or rather, he was. But at his age, he said he is no longer, as they say, 'operational'. According to him, his assignments now are purely observation, look-out for the constabulary, watching what they call 'soft targets' so they can call in reinforcements, and such. This much, he told me himself once I got some brew into him and he was almost crying on my shoulder. He was totally broken, and he is not a man to break."

"He had been sent to Belfast last week to watch. There had been a mass murder at a Protestant pub, and some people saw a bunch of green flashes coming from it. Some people in black cloaks and white masks had run out of the pub and pointed sticks into the air, and a black cloud appeared above them, as they suddenly disappeared. Obviously wizards, with wands, and apparently Death Eater garb."

"The local IRA command called in all the observers they could, regular IRA, Provos, the lot. Those boys are very jealous of whose turf is under whose command, and this had not been an 'official' operation. The local commanders apparently hate each other, and were wanting to know who was crowding into 'their' territories."

"Four days ago, Sullivan was assigned to watch near a middle school. He said that a group of seven people in black robes appeared suddenly, and one pointed his wand at the sky and what you called the 'Dark Mark' appeared above them. They went into the school, and came out with a couple classes of kids and their teachers. The students and teachers looked like they were drunk. I assume they were under some obedience spell or something – you might know more about that kind of thing than I do."

"They commanded the kids and the teachers to undress completely – these were teenagers. The intruders proceeded to make them do all sorts of disgusting and humiliating things to each other. After a while, they seemed to tire of this and sent a couple kids into the school, who came out with fire axes and proceeded to chop up their classmates and teachers! The robed Death Eaters (I guess) were laughing their heads off, and firing a green light at some kids who dropped down, apparently dead."

"Sullivan had called in the news of this when the attack started, and at this point some reinforcements arrived, shots were fired and four of the Death Eaters dropped down. Three were definitely dead, but one was screaming in pain. The other three grabbed one of the bodies including the injured one, and vanished into thin air. When the 'forces' went down to look at the remaining body, they took off the mask and cloak, and found it was a young woman with a brand on her left arm."

"Sullivan had been very shaken by the attack, but the shock didn't hit him until he saw this dead woman who had committed such horrors on defenseless kids. He said he was sick for the next six hours, and the commander sent him home to get him away from the scene. He told me that the last thing he did was try to resign from the IRA, saying that if this was the kind of thing going on, he couldn't be part of it any more. He said the commander told him that this had been none of their doing, and if anything they would work to prevent it happening again. He was also told that nobody resigns. He was really worried about what they would do to him, because he was not going to do anything for them anymore."

"Old Sullivan said that he could not close his eyes, because every time he did, he saw the kids hacking at each other with fire axes. He said he hadn't slept since the attack. After he told me this, he went into the back of the pub and shot himself."

Tim looked around the room. "Whatever you need me to do, I will. I will take Mo and the kids, and go to America. I will hide behind your wards or carry a portkey on me at all time. Whatever! When an old battle-hardened guy like Sullivan breaks like that, it is more than I want any part of."

Seamus O'Neil looked at his family, and said, "I know that these people are wizards and witches, and some would say that we should respect them because they are 'our own'. I cannot accept that. If that is what being a wizard means, then I will happily reject my magic for the rest of my life. We owe them no loyalty, no support, nothing. As the current head of this family, I denounce them and all their works! I hate to do this, but we need to pass word to the IRA, and the Constabulary both - we will pass on a description of these 'Death Eaters', and tell them to shoot on sight, and shoot to kill."

"Tim, do you have connections to make this happen?"

Tim nodded. "I know a lad, who knows a lad, who may know some lads. What about you? How is the wizarding community going to take care of their end of the responsibility? I don't think we muggles are going to be able to handle this alone, and I don't really think we should have to!"

Seamus nodded, sadly. "My lad, you're absolutely right, and I'm sorry. It shouldn't even _be_ your problem, if our side hadn't fallen under the influence of rich bigots. I know some wizards who know some others as well as some creatures that, I promise you, you would not want to know. I'm not sure even I want to know about some of them."

"My cousin, Connor, has spoken to one of the giants." Seamus chuckled. "He said that standing drinks for someone who holds a barrel, the way you or I would hold a mug, gets rather expensive. Anyway, he spoke with Gargle MacFingal, whose family came over from Scotland during the Highland Clearances. MacFingal said that his family tried to petition the British crown for return of some of their properties seized after the 1745 rising, or at least their ancestral cave, but no luck. He commented that we Irish have held our own giants in high esteem for centuries, and have treated his own family well since they immigrated, and what's good enough for the O'Finns is good enough for the MacFingals. Connor got the impression that the giants, at least those from Ireland, will never ally themselves to Voldemort, who considers them no better than beasts, as much or more because he and most of his followers are English and so cannot be trusted by any Celts large, or small, more than because they are evil."

"As for the banshees, Connor said it was almost impossible to communicate with an amorphous black cloud. He got the impression that because they were attracted to death, they would be happy if Voldemort kept killing, but they had no particular interest in helping him. Apparently, they are willing to help us by following the Death Eaters around and telling us their whereabouts – if we do nothing, there will be killing by the Death Eaters, and if we kill the Death Eaters, that's okay by them as well. Either way, there will be death, and they will be satisfied."

"Tim, you looked shocked. Voldemort and his Death Eaters may be wizards, but they are no kin of mine. This family looks after our own!"

"These Death Eaters, like all similar insane monsters, always find some feature they share with you, and because of that, they fully expect you to fall into line. Hitler did it with the Germans, Idi Amin did it with his tribe, and I am sure others did it too, and will do so again in the future. But loyalty goes two ways. And this Voldemort, for all he claims to be for pure-blood wizards, appears to be loyal to himself, and himself alone. His followers claim they are the epitome of wizarding kind, and that they are protecting the purity of all magical people. But they have absolute contempt for anyone not just like them, and are so loyal to him, they allow him to _brand_ them, and take this brand as a sign of respect!"

"Voldemort's strategy seems to be to divide people. To say, they're not like us, so we don't have to worry. That's another favourite tactic of tyrants – 'divide and conquer'. Tim, we need to work together."

"Tim, he may be a wizard, but you are family. As I said before, this family has seen tyrants come and go. _They_ are not my family. You are!"


	3. Education

**Divided Loyalties**

**Rating**: T with a warning of semi-explicit nastiness.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to any of the Harry Potter books, movies, inflatable dolls of Hermione and Susan, chocolate frogs or any other of the creations of J.K. Rowling and her associates. This story is based on her creations and for them, I thank her. This is a work of fiction, and I receive no income, praise or even credit for imagining the scenes contained herein.

3. **Education**

When they were first married, Tim and Maureen spent some time learning about each other's worlds, and talking about how to teach their children about both. Muggles and magicals, for the most part, tried desperately to ignore the other's existence (although the Irish muggles did maintain a bit closer tie to some of the magic than their British counterparts did). Tim commented pointedly that the muggle world held a lot of magic and mysteries too, such as rainbows, the smell of the countryside after a fresh spring rain, and (his own specialty) the miracle of yeast changing white powder and other ingredients into a nourishing food.

For a number of years, Maureen and Tim had been discussing where to send Bridgette and Teresa to school. With the Dark Lord on the loose, Hogwarts was too close to most of his operations, and as a place of refuge, which for the most part did not seem to care about blood-status, it seemed to be an obvious target. Not a safe place to send to girls with a muggle parent.

Mary Margaret had shown none of the signs of magical abilities that her two sisters had exhibited by the age of two, but one spring day in 1980, when her parents were again discussing whether it would be safe to send the girls to Hogwarts when the time eventually came, little Maggie had stood up before them with her hands on her hips, looking as fierce as only a three year old can, and insisted "No Hogwarts! Bridey and Terry go to sunny school with grapes! Not the Scotch place. Scotland! Not! Safe!" The parents figured that Maggie had seen the pictures of Beauxbatons' palace and had liked the look of it, but the girl had been too young to read the description of the school. The family had not even discussed the French school's program of viticulture and winemaking (similar to Hogwarts' courses of herbology and potions, but Frenchified), so Maggie could not have even known about their extensive vineyards – how she even knew about the grapes was a bit of a mystery.

As Bridgette had the Celtic love of story-telling, the more artistically oriented program at the French school seemed well suited to her, but Teresa had not displayed any such interests yet, or much of any others, being but two years old at the time.

As Maggie had not displayed any magical abilities, Maureen had suspected that she was either completely non-magical or a squib, so this apparent show of divination ability was rather odd. An Assessor was called in to evaluate the girls and the newborn Seamus Sean (named for his grandfathers).

The Assessor, who was also Maureen's great-aunt Moira, checked on the children, agreed that the three of the four children had 'normal' magical abilities, but that little Maggie was different. The parents were informed that, although the other children were normal witches and wizard, Maggie was not a witch, but was a Seer. While typical magical folk were connected to the natural forces and Elementals of the world as it was at the moment, Seers were connected to the forces of Time. As such, Mary-Margaret would have insight to the future and interpreting the past, but could do very little to affect the present, at least any more than a non-magical person could do. Fortunately for the young girl, the Celtic peoples had a long history of respect for seers and prophets.

After four years of hiding in plain sight, behind the most powerful wards that the elders of the O'Neil clan could devise, news came from the south of England. Voldemort had been killed. And been killed by a baby, none-the-less!

Maureen was shocked by the identity of the 'Savior of Wizarding Kind'. Some of her school friends had sent her word that one of the spoiled brats she had despised at Hogwarts had apparently really cleaned up his act (unlike his best friend, who was still a spoiled brat), because he had married the brilliant student who had replaced her as the potions star. Their son, one Harry Potter, had been the one who apparently had killed the mighty Lord Voldemort. The spoiled brat friend seems to have lost his mind and went on a rampage, killing a group of muggles and one of his school-friends.

How this all happened was a mystery, and how the story had been spread was also a mystery. Both the parents were killed in the attack, and the baby had a strange scar on his forehead. Apparently, the Dark Lord had fired the killing curse at the infant, and it had rebounded on him. When people arrived on the site of the murders and the death, the bodies of Lily and James Potter were there, as well as the body of Voldemort.

Because the only survivor was little Harry Potter, and he was the only one ever known to have survived the killing curse, he was already being hailed as 'The Boy Who Lived'. Harry was a couple months younger than little Seamus, and he was already famous.

However, after the baby was rescued from the scene, he completely disappeared.

Maureen thought it very strange that no one knew who had rescued the babe, or where he had gone, but that a description of him, what he had accomplished, and a detailed description of his scar were widely known within 24 hours of the event. Given the family's long-standing distrust of the news media and of government, this smelled like a major cover-up to her. Maureen smelled a rat.

The existence of the rat became patently more clear when it was reported that most of Voldemort's followers had claimed to be under Voldemort's Imperius curse for many years, and so had been pardoned to resume their powerful and influential (i.e., rich) ways. Only those who had been caught in the acts of killing, torturing and such had been sent to Azkaban. At the same time as the pardons, several high officials at the Ministry seemed to have come into a lot of sudden wealth. She knew that, although the Dark Lord himself seemed to be gone, his story was not over by any means.

She looked at young Seamus, toddling around getting into everything with a huge smile on his face. She glanced over to Patrick, asleep in his crib. A reputation, like young Harry had, would be a terrible burden to put on such tiny shoulders.

When Patrick was born, Aunt Moira had told her and Tim that Pat had no sign of magic. Tim had smiled and declared he was happy to finally have a son that he could teach to play football, without having to worry about the ball disappearing and reappearing behind him in the net (which was one of Bridgette's favourite tricks) – he loved his children dearly, but at times he just felt rather left out.

Like most children, Seamus had learned to walk upright, and to respond in socially acceptable manners to natural urges. Like many children in Europe, he had learned to understand and speak multiple languages including English and Gaelic, although not solely the ones that non-magical folk were familiar with. As he got older and his voice deepened, his ability to speak sparrow diminished (unlike his elder sisters), but he thought this no loss as sparrow hens only talked about cleaning the nest and feeding chicks while the cocks (like teenage human boys) only wanted to talk about fighting, eating and sex. Now, crows and rooks, as the brightest of the birds, had some interesting things to discuss.

Seamus learned the Celtic love of poetry, song and story-telling. Unlike many of his classmates at St. Bernadette's Primary School, he knew that many of the fantastic creatures they told stories of, were real. His grandfather Seamus (Old or Big Seamus to the family as opposed to himself, Young or Little Seamus) had a fine small herd of pookas on the farm, and the giants in the hills were gentle folk who loved to drink, to sing and to laugh.

Old Seamus also told the children that he had a small group of thestrals living on the farm. Bridgette had looked around the farm and complained that she couldn't see them. Her grandfather smiled a sad smile, and said "Lass, I pray that you never can." The girl frowned and said "But why, Grampa. I want to see them." The old man shook his head – "No, you don't, my darling. For you to see a thestral, you have to see someone die, and that before their time. Typically, that means you saw someone killed in an accident or murdered. You do not want to see thestrals, and I pray that with God's help, you never can."

He had learned tolerance for most folk, although he reserved the right to befriend only those he felt deserved it. Seamus was himself good friends with David and Rachel Cohen, two young leprechauns who were the children of Ruth and Saul, who occasionally worked with Seamus' father Tim. Any tension with Saul's family came from the fact that they were orthodox Jews and kept kosher. Not that Seamus cared that he was Catholic and they were not, but it made going for picnics on Saturdays rather awkward, and that annoyed the young boy.

Seamus and the Cohens were brought up believing that there was only one God, and the fact that the Cohens prayed in a different way than he did when he went to mass at 'Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows' church (also known to the parishioners, due to Father Flaherty's frequent and obsessive tirades about original sin, 'Our Lady of Perpetual Blame') made no difference to the fact that they were good and pious people.

Saul was the local 'magical' rabbi, and supervised Tim's preparation of the unleavened breads for Passover. Their ancestors had come to Ireland from Judea when most of the Jews were expelled by the Emperor Hadrian. David joked to Seamus that he was a Lepra-Cohen.

As both of his grandfathers had served in the Second World War, and his great-grandfather Liam had served in the First World War, the Boer war and the Crimean, Seamus had learned to fight, from experts. Like all young boys, fighting was just a way of testing yourself and having fun (although mothers seldom thought so). However, Seamus had been taught an important lesson – when fighting for fun, fight fair, but when it is critical to win, because losing meant death to you or your family, you fought with all your skill and abilities and gave no quarter. His grandpa Tom had told him "The most important part of fighting is that if you fight the way your enemy wants you to fight, you've lost before you start." Young Seamus was taught to not reveal his magic, unless the fight was sufficiently important – keeping such a weapon hidden until it was necessary might give him that extra advantage. Minimizing his abilities, except when around people he trusted, might someday save his life.

This fact was proven to young Seamus quite clearly one day, when the school bully was attempting to 'persuade' his sister Mary Margaret to tell him who was going to win an important football match, so that he could place a safe bet on the outcome. They were standing at the top of the main staircase, and Seamus shouted at the boy to quit bothering his sister. The young man turned and tried to push Seamus down the stairs, which would have worked except that Seamus dropped to the floor out of his way. The older boy, having expected at least some resistance to his push, and finding none, overbalanced so that he fell down the stairs himself, breaking his arm. Hi got to his feet, furious and ready to resume his attack on the Finnegans, but found himself looking up at the stern eyes of Sister Gertrude, one of the teaching nuns, who was standing there as if all the authority of the Pope Himself was at her command (as was the practice of all teaching nuns).

That evening, the boy's father stormed over to the Finnegan house, swearing that Seamus had used his magical powers on his son, and practiced underage apparition in violation of the law. When Tim replied "That's not how Sister Gertrude explained the events to us", the man cried out "Are you calling me a liar, then?", and drew his wand (as he himself was a wizard, and as much of a bully as his son – the apple had not fallen far from the tree) to threaten the family. Tim stepped towards the man turning sideways, and with a fairly standard disarming technique, took the man's wand from him. As Tim broke the man's wand (the ultimate indignity to a wizard, made much worse that it was done by a muggle!), said "If you or your son ever threaten any of my family again, I will be forced to ask some family friends to come and visit you on a regular basis, and they might like to bring some of their relatives along. Now go home!" As it was known (in the Keady wizarding community) that the O'Neils (Tim's in-laws) were on reasonably good terms with a tribe of banshees, who were distant relatives of dementors, the man's face turned white and he practically ran from the house.

Seamus looked at his father and asked, "How did you do that?" Tim smiled and said, "It's an old army trick your grand-da taught me. I guess it's time I taught you and your siblings now. You may need it." He opened a drawer and pulled out some chopsticks, left over from their last Chinese take-away, and gave one to each of the children. As he showed them the turning step and drawing forward of the hand which pulled your opponent off balance and loosens his grip on his weapon, he explained "When a bully attacks, the last thing he expects is you to move towards him and counter his attack. It is his own arrogance and stupidity which is your most powerful weapon."

Maureen added "Most wizards cannot conceive of a muggle who would actually fight back, instead of backing away in terror. They are blinded by their own belief in their superiority. Also, most of the rich wizarding families have house elves to do all their chores for them, and they get very lazy and once they are out of school (where they at least get _some_ exercise) they lose any stamina or physical fitness. If you can last more than half a minute in a fight, they collapse from exhaustion. Keep your fitness, and you will always come out ahead. They also focus only on their own abilities, and almost never do things as a coordinated team. Your dad has taught you to play football, and your granddad has had you working on the farm, and I have had you in the kitchen with me, both cooking and doing potions – in all these things, working together with everyone doing their own tasks but each contributing, things got done, and done better."

One day, his mother sat Seamus down and said "Your sister says that you will be friends with Harry Potter, and you and I both know that Maggie is never wrong in her predictions. Whoever this Harry Potter may be, he killed the Dark Lord, which spoiled the plans of a lot of bad people. When he comes out of hiding, thee are going to be a lot of very nasty people after his hide, and if you are his friend, really his friend, you are going to be a target as well. You will be fighting for him and with him, as he will be fighting for you. My dear son, please get to be very good at it!"

The Finnegan magical children had all been taught the common household spells and charms, such as the ones to get mice and rats out of the house, but all the children had also been taught the muggle ways of doing things. Their father Tim did not want them to get lazy just because they had the power to do so. Seamus also found that doing up the dishes 'the muggle way' gave him an excellent opportunity to take the time to chat with his mother or one of his siblings. He particularly enjoyed discussing the day's events with his sister Mary Margaret (who had a very different view of the world), or the latest news from the bird world with Teresa, while having the great excuse of soaking his hands in warm dishwater and doing something of more apparent usefulness; talking with Mary Margaret was rather a lot of fun, because you never knew what she was going to say.

His father had also taught the children what he termed 'muggle magic'. This included such things as walking down a country road after a rain storm, enjoying the fresh smell of the clean air. They watched the bees busily working in the flower garden, and the miracle of an ugly caterpillar turning into a butterfly. Tim taught them the magic of yeast turning a sticky mass of flour and water into a light fluffy delicacy, and turning a sludge of barley or apple pulp into refreshing drinks (as brewing was traditionally part of the baker's arts). They watched the beauty of a horse (mundane or spectral) running across a field.

Young Seamus also had learned a bit about cultures of other countries. When Bridgette and Teresa came home for summer holidays from Beauxbatons, they talked about all the different ways people did things in the southern countries. They tried preparing some of the different foods which they had experienced at the French school, along with some of the foreign condiments. When they went swimming in the pond at their grandparents' farm, the girls insisted on wear their swimsuits 'in the French style' (i.e., topless). As the family had swum without any suits much of the time (when only they were present), nothing really new was revealed, but Seamus found the partial nudity more shocking than complete nudity. When his mother joined in with the practice, the children got a fairly explicit lesson in the progressive development of the female body, comparing Maureen's adult body to those of her teenaged daughters.


	4. New Loyalties

**Divided Loyalties**

**Rating**: T with a warning of semi-explicit nastiness.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to any of the Harry Potter books, movies, inflatable dolls of Hermione and Susan, chocolate frogs or any other of the creations of J.K. Rowling and her associates. This story is based on her creations and for them, I thank her. This is a work of fiction, and I receive no income, praise or even credit for imagining the scenes contained herein.

4: **New Loyalties**

Seamus Finnegan was sitting at the Gryffindor table at Hogwarts. He had just been sorted into the House named for the first headmaster of the school. As his sister Maggie had predicted, he had been placed in the same house as the famous Harry Potter.

However, the skinny, underfed boy sitting across from him at the banquet table was unlike anything he had mentally prepared himself to see. Seamus had seen many children from abused families (largely due to excessive drinking by their fathers), and this Harry had all the signs. However, Mary Margaret had firmly informed him that he was to go to Hogwarts and become friends with Harry Potter (who, in Maggie's words, was not yet 'great' but would become so through hard trials and tribulations, and that Seamus' companionship and friendship would be needed to help him achieve it). She also told him that he would never be Harry's _best_ friend, but his presence was still essential to the proper unfolding of the universe.

Taking another look at the young Potter, he saw that the boy was not so much scrawny, as wiry. He looked like some of the pictures from poorer countries, where people had to work very hard and had not much to eat. They were thin, but very strong. If nothing else, this Potter had stood up to the blond princeling who had just been sorted into Slytherin House. Seamus recognised the name 'Malfoy' as one of those Death Eaters who had apparently bought their way out of prison after the fall of Voldemort - the young popinjay behaved as if the world owned him everything, just because of who he was. This was exactly the type of person that Seamus' parents and grandparents had warned him against. And Potter had told him to take a hike!

Looking around the large hall where the students had gathered for the opening feast, Seamus thought about all the things that he had learned over his life, as he arrived to learn what it would take to be a grown-up wizard. He had learned from his family and from the people around him. And now he would learn from these people.

He took another look at his new house-mates. According to the tall Scottish witch who had led them into the hall, his house was going to be like his family. These people were going to be the ones he would live with, argue with, fight with, and possibly come to love over the next seven years.

His mother had explained the house system, and the rivalries that came with it. He would be expected to be loyal to Hogwarts in general, but not necessarily to all of its students. His primary loyalty was supposed to be to his House and its occupants. He figured he had better start learning just who they were, and decided who his friends were going to be.

Seamus had been the second of the new students to be sorted into Gryffindor, after a pretty blonde girl with curly hair, who was sitting at the table in a posture to show exactly how pretty she was, or at least how pretty _she_ thought she was.

One of the other new Gryffindor girls was a buck-toothed, bushy-haired brunette, who was telling everyone about all the wonderful things around them and what book she had read about them in. He got the impression that she was the only child of parents who valued book-learning above all else, and the girl was trying desperately for approval in the only way she knew.

One other new girl was a beautiful Indian girl, who seemed to have connected with the pretty blonde, as they were sitting together giggling at everything (Seamus thought their voices sounded like a flock of sparrows). She had a twin sister who had been sorted into Ravenclaw House.

There was a fourth girl, who seemed absolutely terrified by all the strange things around her. Seamus had noticed her crumpled in a corner on the train, whimpering and being tormented by some older students with a green badge on their robes. When they got off the train and the huge man called them all to follow him, she took one look at him and screamed in terror. Since she came into the Great Hall, she had been crying continuously, whimpering "I want to go home." Finally, the tall Scottish witch had come over to her and said "I'm very sorry, Miss Trimble. We thought and fervently hoped this would be a good thing for you. Please come with me, and we will get you back home. We will arrange for a tutor to help you to control your powers." The dour witch then led the girl from the hall. Seamus would not see her again for many years. Apparently, for all her stern demeanour, the tall woman had a kind heart.

Of the boys, there was one who just seemed a normal lad, and one puffy faced kid who looked like he felt he was completely out of his depth and was afraid someone would discover that he didn't belong at the school.

The last boy was a red headed lad who kept talking with a working class accent. Seamus thought this was odd as three other Gryffindors (in higher years, one with a prefect's badge, and the other two obviously twins who were laughing at everything, but especially their brothers) had no such accent and spoke in a more posh fashion. Seamus had seen the family on the platform before he got on the train, and saw they had a younger sister about a year younger that the red-headed firstie, Ron. Seamus remembered Kathy O'Hara back home, who still spoke with a German accent because the family had hired a German 'au pair' girl to look after her when Kathy was just learning to talk – he wondered if the Weasley family had had a similar helper when Ron's little sister was being born.

Thinking again of his swimming lessons from the previous summer and sisters, Seamus now looked around the Gryffindor table at his new 'dorm-sisters', and wondered how they all would develop over the years. He was sure that they, and he, would change a lot before they left Hogwarts.

Drawing a deep breath, Seamus Finnegan decided it was time for him to start getting to know these strangers who were going to be his surrogate family for the next seven years, and particularly the scrawny kid that his sister had told him was going to be very important in his life. He looked at his new classmates, and said "Hi. I'm Seamus, Seamus Finnegan."

He smiled and added. _**"I'm half and half. Me dad's a muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."**_

_**The others laughed.**_

It was only years later, when his own wedding was approaching, that Seamus discovered that he had got the timing of his father's revelation wrong. But by then, it didn't matter in the least, as it really hadn't mattered to these new people in his life. What had mattered was that he had opened up what might be a family secret, and opened the door to their trust. Their laughter said that they were going to be friends.

**Author's Note:** The text above in bold and (partially) italics is from 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone', by J.K. Rowling.


End file.
